Pages

I would like to introduce to you a guest blogger that I met participating in Robert Lee Brewers April Platform Challenge. Not only does Emily McGee write beautiful poetry, but she writes about her life as a trailing spouse on her blog!

What I Learn From PoetryBy Emily McGee

Jiyuritsu I (free form haiku - yes, this is a real
thing)

Rotten leaves coat

the sidewalk

a carpet to

winter

Haiku I

Shadows spread deeply,

devouring my footsteps,

gulping at the ground.

Jiyuritsu II

Lily pads on the pond.

No, it is ice, frozen

in November.

Haiku II

Footsteps in the snow;

and backlit trees at sunset.

Winter glows today.

I live in Atlanta, Georgia now.There are no frozen ponds.There are no snowy footsteps.That's why finding these poems, which I wrote
in high school, was such a joy.They
took me back to a place where we wore snowsuits under our Halloween costumes
and where the sun set at 4 pm in the winter.Long shadows, backlit trees, and a crisp coating of ice signaled winter
in Maine.

Not only do these poems remind me of growing up in Maine,
they remind me of why I love poetry.In
a poem, especially in a short poem, every word counts.I am amazed at both the stories that writers
tell and the images that they create through just a few carefully selected
words.As a writer, I want my short
stories, my blog posts, and even my work-related writing to be that precise.

I don't think I could write those poems today.I've been gone too long.I can only picture the rotting leaves and the
frigid air when someone else, or my past self, paints that picture for me.My poems today would have to be about
humidity, or the rush of traffic, or the thick layer of pollen that has settled
on my windowsills.But I'm glad I still
have those poems, because no matter where I am, I can read them and imagine
winter in Maine.And even though I don't
write poetry any more, I still read plenty of it.I read poetry because it teaches me to be a
better writer and because it allows me to glimpse another place, or another life.

Emily E. McGee loves to read, write, and travel because
these activities allow her to imagine other people's lives.She writes about the good, the bad, and the
ugly sides of life as a trailing spouse at One Trailing Spouse
(www.onetrailingspouse.com).You connect
with her on twitter (@EmilyEMcGee) or on facebook
(www.facebook.com/emily.e.mcgee)

Music inspires me to write, especially poetry. Music itself is poetry. Not one certain song or genre, but music in it's entirety. Flowing rhythmically from the instruments, plucked from the fingertips of an artist; chords float on the wind. The melodies grasp me; singing to me... calling me forth into a trance. Capturing my attention and penetrating my mind, I feel it pulse through my body. Lyrics probe the depths of my emotions, toying with them. Teasing me with a temporary joy... or depression. Absorbing the words, clinging onto the chorus; they mold themselves around my life. For the length of the song... they become me; sometimes lingering for a moment after. It takes ahold of me to a point that I'm moved to write a piece that compares in beauty.

Taking on a life of it's own when released into the world; it has the power to change... to heal. Music has the power to impress its self upon you... your life will never be the same.

"The birds like leaves on Winterwood, Sing hopeful songs on dismal days. They've learned to live life as they should. They are at peace with natures ways.

You are as natural as the night, And all that springs from you is good. And the children born beneath your light, Are like the birds on Winterwood. "

~Don McLean's Winterwood~

Music is a part of who I am. It flows through my veins caressing my heart. Ingrained into my brain; etched into my skin. Words spill from my lips; then when put to music... it's pure ecstasy. A world without music or poetry will no longer be a world worth living.

Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Wilhelm
Nietzsche

Dana

* This post was written for Bloggy Moms Writer's Workshop

~Connect with me on Twitter and Facebook! Also, you can sign up for email updates on the top right hand side of the page.

Shadows shift atop the grass
Dancing alongside the sun
Partners synced so perfectly
Yet they remain unaware of the other
Each equally deserving of ones attention
Depending on their need
Sharing the rhythm of the earth

An oak stands sentinel
Puppeteer of the shadows
Pulling invisible strings as it sways
Leaves twist, flip, turn; rustling softly
Being manipulated by the breeze
Providing a natural melody
Serenading the dancers as they fade into the night

I feel too deeply... too much. I write to release the emotions within before my mind explodes from the weight. I write poetry. I write for me.

Sometimes the words burst forth brought on by inspiration. Sometimes they form slowly and carefully weaving their way through my body; finding their way onto paper. My thoughts, my fears, my whole life written in stanzas, or however I please. Then... I share them with you.

You must read slowly for every word ways heavy with meaning. It bears my heart; my soul. A journal of sorts. A not so secret diary. A peek inside my head. Every word should be read as if it was the most important on the page. For me... it was. To bring them together is to form a symphony of emotion. Playing and replaying a memory. The story of the author.

These poems that I present are the story of me.

Think upon them. Learn from them. What emotions do they stir? For everyone it's different and I'm o.k. with that. As long as you go away with a new perspective.

She sat beside the open window in a meditative trance listening; watching the pitter patter of drops descending from the sky. No other sound exists. No other scene deserves her attention more than this.
A smile plays upon her lips.

pitter patter plop, pitter patter plop

Charcoal clouds move past depositing the droplets upon the earth dampening everything but her soul. She loves the rain; the cleansing effect it has upon her. She views it as a chance to shed the hurt and ugliness. Another chance to start anew as nature intended.

~Birds of a feather~

Hello...

I struggle with picking my brain; scooping out thoughts laced within each other.There are so many to choose, therefore I have nothing to say.Untangling them in order to focus on one proves to be rather complicated.That's what happens when your me.Don't confuse it with being shy, it's more like being deep.

Sit with me awhile; provide me with some quiet encouragment.As words appear in a ghostly form to hang before my eyes, ideas begin to materialize.Sentences flow freely from the tip of my pen.A story is fast approaching.My mind is no longer in the present; I am no longer me.Notice my meditation, but do not disturb.I can not tolerate disruption.

My escape from reality is short lived; I have been productive in my absence.I have written.Whatever it has become is no concern to me.It's all the same; my thoughts and dreams.You are welcome to take a peek anytime you please.